Page 19 of Dodge

He eased back in the comfortable chair and lifted his phone again. He listened to the recording he’d made of Cynthia Hooper.

No, please, don’t ... Why? It hurts ... Just kill me ...

He’d made several copies, in case one was accidentally erased.

He scanned those rooms that he could see from where he sat. He would miss this place. Now that he’d been identified as the mastermind of the Old Bennett Road drug van heist and as the shooter of earnest and insecure Deputy Tony Lombardi, it was time to leave the country.

Though not before finishing up what he’d come here for.

Completing the mission.

His plan—mapped out like a game of his beloved chess—had nearly worked.

He wanted to hunt down Constant Marlowe outside Illinois—in a place where she’d have few allies. Wisconsin was good. Harbinger County made sense given his connections.

A contact would get her the message that he was here, and Marlowe would believe it was legit because it would come from one of her trusted confidential informants.

There was no risk she’d talk to the county deputies up here. In fact, she’d avoid them at all costs; her goal was to murder, not arrest, him.

Offenbach decided he’d front that he was a law enforcer—US marshal seemed good; he had quite enjoyedThe Fugitive. He’d bought the badge and ID card for two thousand. Expensive, but they were the real thing and, if scanned, which he doubted the Sheriff’s Office would even know how to do, the barcode was genuine.

He had borrowed the name of a real marshal in the Chicago office, Edward Green, who, his contact told him, was out of the office on assignment in Indiana.

As for the bio—married, with two children, well,thatwas a joke. Paul Offenbach had relationships with women but they invariably involved some deal making—with hefty bonuses paid when the evening went rougher than planned. He occasionally lost control when it came to that sort of playtime.

The man in Chicago who had turned Marlowe’s confidential informant—and who was extremely well compensated by Offenbach—also provided a picture of Marlowe breaking into a warehouse. It was not, however, a rival gangs’ facility. She was the lead tactical agent in a raid of a human trafficker’s hideout. (Several things he’d told hapless Deputy Lombardi were true: Marlowe did shoot the guard in the knee. And, no, she didn’t need to.)

Then it was on to Upper Falls to meet the deputy, have an excellent hamburger and seduce the unfortunate kid. He’d used charm, informal mentoring and a southern accent, which he’d found tended to make people trust and believe you.

The text he’d received as they were driving to the meth site was not from any computer credit card outfit—if such a thing existed. It was from Tomas Wexler, who was being paid $10K to help him find and eliminate Marlowe. One of Wexler’s men had tracked her to the Western Valley Lodge, where a clerk would hand over a key to her room.

He and the kid were all set to go. He had pictured the scene so clearly he could taste it. Open the door. If she was there, he’d shove Tony in first and when she hesitated to shoot a uniformed law enforcer, he’d kill her and then put two into the deputy’s head.

If she wasn’t inside, they would wait and play out the same scenario when she returned.

Such a perfect plan ...

But it hadn’t worked out that way.

Just before they’d gone inside, he’d noticed on a pile of trash a perfectly good medicine chest mirror. It was partially covered, but, judging the angles, he realized it would give her a view of any cars approaching.

They retreated, to make new plans.

But no new plans were possible.

Because of his big mistake.

Supposedly a stranger to town, how did he know the route from the motel back to the strip mall?

And Lombardi probably wondered too why the marshal hadn’t called the sheriff or the state police and requested a tac team at the motel.

So, it was goodbye to the poor Tony Lombardi.

Though die he did not.

But in a way Offenbach enjoyed this outcome more.

A shattered face ... Think of the pain.

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